


The Broken Apostle in the Bloody Vestment

by sweetNsimple



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Healing, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Positive, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: As an agent of the Heavenly Host stationed on Earth, Aziraphale had taken part in the deaths of more than two million people and countless beasts in the name of his Lord.  It weighed on him more than he could ever admit.~::~“Do you want to make love with me, angel?” he asked.“I want you to be happy.”“That doesn’t answer the question.”The answer was that, yes, he did want to make love with Crowley.  The answer was also no.  Aziraphale did not deserve to be made love to.





	The Broken Apostle in the Bloody Vestment

**Author's Note:**

> I decided that I wanted to watch Michael Sheen movies and ended up watching 'Apostle' (2018) on Netflix the other night. The movie was okay, but there was one phrase especially that stuck out to me:   
> “This world has taken so much from me. But in all my pain, even in my darkest days, I swore… I swore it would never take you."  
> This sounded to me like something they would say to each other, so then I started writing. I've also been experimenting with writing more sexual intimacy. Lastly, someone pointed out that being asexual and sex positive did not have to be two separate things, which is fair. That actually fits in well with my identity, so I thought I would take a chance.

“This world has taken so much from me. But in all my pain, even in my darkest days, I swore… I swore it would never take you” ~ _Apostle_ (2018).

~::~

In the history portrayed by the Old Testament, Satan killed exactly ten people. They were the seven sons and three daughters of Job who lived in the Land of Uz and this murder occurred only after God said he couldn’t turn Job away from his faith. Of course, Gold also said that Lucifer could not kill Job himself. It was nearly a setup, if one really thought about the depressing details of it. Possibly, humans were beginning to wonder what was so bad about Satan anyway.

After all, if one carefully read the Bible, they would find that God had killed more than two million people. Perhaps this was why everyone preferred the kind and loving God they found in the New Testament. 

This did not change what Aziraphale, as an agent of the Lord assigned to Earth, had had to do in the name of God.

He had heralded The Great Flood that decimated Mesopotamia, as written in Genesis 6-8. 

He had walked the smoldering ruins of Sodom and Gomorrah after Sandalphon had taken the cities of the plain to task, as recorded in Genesis 18-19.

He had spread the Plague on the Firstborn in Egypt so that Moses and his people would be free, as inscribed in Exodus 11-12.

He had stood with Samuel as he had directed Saul, as told by God, to kill all the Amalekites down to the last infant and donkey, as chronicled in 1 Samuel 15.

There had been other plagues and events that Aziraphale had had to take charge of. He had been told to love all of Her Creations, but she was vengeful and Her name might as well also be Justice for that she doled out punishment as harsh or worse as the crime committed. 

Aziraphale felt in the core of his being that the division between angel and demon was less to keep Good and Bad separate so much as to use Hell as a scapegoat. He kept these blasphemous thoughts to himself.

The year was 1969 and Aziraphale was very tired. “You will _never_ believe what I just did, angel,” Crowley said, lurking up to his side as he strolled through St. James Park. “I just inspired a drag queen to throw a shot glass and now America is having a nationwide gay panic. They’re calling it the _Stonewall Riots_. The civil unrest is going to echo for decades, I tell you.”

Aziraphale stared at him, absolutely dumfounded. Crowley had just kickstarted a Gay Liberation Movement in the United States and he was swaggering all about the place like a peacock.

“You realize that that’s not necessarily…” He paused at Crowley’s smug expression. “Close to home, as it were.” He didn’t have the heart to tell the demon that that was not necessarily evil. 

“Yeah, well.” Crowley sniffed. “It’s nice to get out of the backyard every now and again.” He turned and started walking backwards. “And what good deeds have you done recently, angel?”

Aziraphale waggled his hips and shoulders. He was rather proud of this one. “I brought together more than fifteen thousand citizens to march on the American embassy and protest the Vietnamese War.” That had been last year, of course, but this was the first time they had had a nice chat since Aziraphale handed off the Holy Water (an incident that dampened his mood to think about). 

Crowley was carefully quiet for a few minutes. “So, you started the Battle of Grosvenor Square.”

The angel’s entire body deflated. “I didn’t know War was there. I _should_ have known that War was there. As if she would peacefully abide an anti-war protest.” Aziraphale wrung his hands over his belly. “Well, it’s not like the Stonewall Riots have been peaceful, have they?” he snapped testily. 

Crowley shrugged. “I’m a demon. I’d get in trouble if civil unrest was peaceful. You’re an angel, though. You’re supposed to be all about peace and turning the other cheek and such.”

Aziraphale bit his bottom lip hard to stop the sudden well of tears from falling over. “Turn the other cheek,” he muttered. “Yes, well.” God had never turned the other cheek. Not unless it was someone else’s cheek and She used a fast open palm to do so.

She was the first mother of Creation and learning to raise humans had been decidedly harder for her than it had been to raise the Martians and the Vulcans and the Ducks. 

“Ah, it’s fine.” Crowley cupped his shoulder in hand and pulled him close. He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek. “You’ll get back into the swing of it. There’s just a lot going on this decade.” 

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand before the demon could walk away. “My dear – ” he stopped himself.

Crowley raised an eyebrow high over the curve of his sunglasses. “What is it?”

It would insult the demon to hear how Aziraphale saw him as good and kind and so very lovely. It would hurt to ask him to come home with Aziraphale and then to have to act before the eyes of God and the judgement of Hell that they meant nothing to each other. 

Aziraphale’s hand shook on Crowley’s and the demon noticed.

“You alright, angel?”

“Yes – just. Tired. I am very tired.” Being an agent of the Heavenly Host had not turned out the way he thought it would.

“You don’t get tired. You don’t like sleeping.”

“Maybe I should give it a try. You know, you slept for almost eighty years last time. I think it might be my turn for a long nap.”

“No, don’t do that.” Crowley pulled him in close. “I’d miss you,” he whispered into Aziraphale’s ear. “Don’t worry,” he added when Aziraphale went tense against him. “No one’s watching. I’d never risk us like that.” 

Aziraphale tucked his face into Crowley’s shoulder. “You did it. I should be allowed to.”

“Rules are different for me. You’re better than me, so you can’t do horribly irresponsible things like almost sleep away a whole century.”

“Am I?” Was he truly better than Crowley? Then why did he feel like he sullied the demon with his presence? “Perhaps I am just a horribly irresponsible angel. What if I am just not a good angel at all?”

“Don’t say _that_. That’s definitely not true.” Now Crowley wrapped both arms around him and swayed them in place, comforting and familiar. “You’re the best of the best.”

“I don’t think I am. Not really.”

“I do and that’s what matters.” Crowley tipped Aziraphale’s face up. 

Even through his sunglasses, Aziraphale could see the adoration and love the demon felt for him. It wasn’t a secret. It hadn’t been for a very long time. After all, what other reason would a demon have for constantly going out of his way to save his opposition from inconvenient discorporation? Aziraphale had finally let himself see it for what it was after the demon walked on consecrated ground to save him from nightmarish paperwork and had saved his precious books to boot.

It was not difficult to understand that he had deeply hurt Crowley that night nigh two years ago, when they had been sitting in the demon’s Bentley and he had told Crowley he went too fast. Crowley did go too fast in the sense that he slipped into and shed human fads quicker than Aziraphale himself was willing to adjust – but the love? That had existed from the beginning. The faintest glow of affection and awe had lit the demon from within when Aziraphale had admitted to giving away his sword and it had grown from there.

Aziraphale just could not bear to give into what was between them and have Crowley see him for what he really was: A bloodthirsty, merciless soldier of God who had slain hundreds of thousands without question.

Crowley was much too sweet and gentle for a broken warrior like himself.

“Let me take you home, angel,” Crowley was saying. “You look like you need… something.”

“Some alone time would be nice,” he said lest the demon suggest staying with him. “There’s a great deal on my mind.”

“Going to figure out how to solve homelessness next?”

“That has been around for six thousand years, my dear boy. I don’t think I’ll be getting rid of it anytime soon.”

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “Some solutions just take longer.”

Aziraphale bit back a scream of rage and despair and merely smiled. “You’re right. Of course. I’ll get right on that.”

~::~

“You could kill him,” Crowley said as Warlock wrote a rude note nn an information board about dinosaurs. 

Aziraphale carefully did not make eye contact. “I’ve never actually killed anyone before,” he lied through his teeth.

He desperately wanted Crowley to believe it.

~::~

“Maybe we should wait,” Aziraphale said with Madame Tracy’s face. He held the alarmingly large weapon in small hands and despair in their eyes.

He had killed so many people in his long existence, but he had never been forced to directly kill anyone as Crowley watched. 

It was not the thought of killing a child that made Aziraphale hesitate so much as the cold realization that Crowley would always look at him differently if he did so. 

~::~

Crowley’s Bentley pulled up in front of his bookshop. Aziraphale sighed in relief to see, at least from the outside, that it was the same as it had always been. This was the first time since he had been discorporated seeing it for himself.

Inside, he trailed his fingers over familiar covers and well-maintained spines. He was uncomfortable with the addition of children’s books, but willing to allow it in favor of having a bookshop at all after being told it had gone up in flames.

Crowley watched him, slouching against the door. “Like I said – not a smudge.”

“Yes, it appears you were right.” Aziraphale held _Wuthering Heights_ to his chest and closed his eyes in silent joy.

When he opened them again, Crowley was much closer. Too close. The demon plucked the book from his arms and set it aside so he could take that extra step into Aziraphale’s space.

The angel swallowed thickly. “What are you doing, my dear?” His voice was quiet, as if speaking normally would startle the demon into action.

“It’s just us now, angel,” Crowley said. “No more going too fast. No more my side, your side. It’s our side and… we can do what we want.” His hands whispered over Aziraphale’s hips before settling there. “We can finally have this.”

Somehow, pretending to be Crowley while on trial in Hell had been less petrifying than what was currently happening. “This?”

“Us.”

Crowley was leaning into him, lips parted, and Aziraphale knew what was going to happen next.

He was not a very good angel – he was, in fact, a very filthy, murderous creature. And he was greedy and hedonistic as well and he rose up to take the kiss from Crowley’s lips, arms surrounding the demon’s shoulders to hold him captive just in case Crowley realized what a terrible, horrible decision this was. In case he could taste the sin and carnage on Aziraphale’s tongue and tried to leave.

Aziraphale hoped fervently that he didn’t leave.

“Slow down, angel,” Crowley murmured against his mouth, hot breath tasting of wine. “Now who’s going too fast?”

“Don’t tease, darling, please.” They would kiss and embrace and do whatever else Crowley wanted and, if Aziraphale was very lucky, the demon would take a few centuries to recognize the ugly stain that was Aziraphale. They could have this time if they worked _quickly_.

Crowley chuckled and, in a sudden movement, was carrying Aziraphale bridal style. “I think I’ve earned the right to tease. I haven’t waited so long for anything else in my life so much as I’ve waited for you. Do you have a bedroom?”

Azirapahle mutely shook his head, hands on Crowley’s shoulders. 

“You do now.” Crowley kissed him again and again, carelessly without looking where he was going as he ascended the backstairs. It was much like his driving and Aziraphale was just as terrified as when Crowley was behind the wheel. 

“What do we need a bedroom for?” There was a desk for Crowley to bend him over. Walls to press him up against. Bookshelves to push him into. A floor if he didn’t want to stand.

Crowley paused at the top of the stairs and smiled down at him. It was an honest, genuine smile. Powerless, Aziraphale reached up and took away the demon’s sunglasses. His snake eyes had dilated and they were large and dark with love and want. 

“The first time you make love with the love of your existence,” he told Aziraphale conspiringly, “it’s supposed to be in a bed. I’ve been told this.” 

“Make love?” Aziraphale gasped. 

“Yep.” Crowley swung them into a space that had once been just another sitting room where Aziraphale read. There was now a bed that took up near the whole area, layered with comforters and pillows. It had a solid headboard and a canopy to block out the Universe. It looked like a dream, like a cloud, like such a safe place to be.

“There?” the angel asked.

“Do you see another bed around here?”

“Doesn’t seem your speed.”

“I’ve had millennia to think it over. I considered you, spread out over my black silk sheets. Decadent and pure.” He laid Aziraphale down. It _did_ feel like a cloud. “Then I thought about you being so cozy that you just melt into the bed. You’re the biggest hedonist I know, I thought the best way to make sure you stay in bed with me is to make the bed as Damned luxurious as possible.” 

Aziraphale ran the back of his hand over the blankets. They were impossibly soft to the touch, as if they had been well-loved and well-kept for years though they looked brand new. The bed dipped to his shape, welcoming him to stay.

“Go on, take off your clothes.” Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, proud as the cat who got the canary. “Feel it all over. Really take it in.” There was a tent in his pants, showing that he had already manifested genitalia. That he was getting some sort of pleasure from all this.

Aziraphale glanced down his own body. “What should I have?”

“Have?”

“You seem to have a penis. What should I have? What do you want me to have?”

Crowley frowned. “Whatever you like.”

“I don’t have a preference.”

“You do.”

“No, really, my dear. What would you like?” The question, he thought, was innocent enough. They were not limited for options in the genitalia department. If Crowley would prefer that he had tentacles, it would only take a thought to form. If Crowley wanted him to be hung like a horse, well… That was also possible. If he wanted a vagina to squeeze him like a glove or an arsehole or a cloaca, Aziraphale was capable of all of them. Crowley should have appreciated the offer he was making.

Perhaps, however, something of his true desperation to please Crowley slipped through. Maybe it was the nervous uptick of his voice or the way he couldn’t quite look straight at the demon.

“Do you want to make love with me, angel?” he asked. 

“I want you to be happy.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

The answer was that, yes, he did want to make love with Crowley. Not because he was sexually attracted to him – Aziraphale found himself to be a patron for the asexual community in that he did not experience sexual attraction, though that could be a matter of him being an angel as much as a personal quirk – but because he wanted to be intimate with Crowley and please him and see him fall apart. He wanted to be as close as possible with the demon and, in all honesty, he had heard that sex felt good and he liked to indulge in most pleasurable human endeavors as least once to try them out. 

The answer was also no. Aziraphale did not _deserve_ to be made love to. How many families had he torn apart? How much death and destruction had he heralded against both human and beast? No. He did not deserve a luxuriously soft and comfortable bed and an attentive, serviceable lover. 

He deserved bleeding bite marks and ugly welts that scarred. He wanted Crowley to take his pleasure from him with no consideration of what Aziraphale wanted, to make it deep and hurt. He knew Crowley loved him too much to hurt him, though, so he would have settled with filthy sex, quick and hard, impatient and on the nearest surface.

Aziraphale was quiet for too long. Crowley cursed and slashed a hand through the air. The tent in his pants went away and the demon slithered up the bed to flop down next to Aziraphale. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think that maybe you wouldn’t be into that scene,” the demon brushed his hand through the angel’s hair. “Is kissing alright?”

Aziraphale sobbed. “Damn you,” he wheezed. “For Heaven’s sake, why are you so perfect?”

The demon stared at him as if the angel had just revealed that he was Satan himself. “I don’t think I’m following.”

“You are too good for me.”

“Now, that’s going too far. Those are some fighting words.”

Aziraphale rolled himself on top of Crowley and planted his hands on the demon’s chest. “You really don’t understand, do you? You have no idea the terrible things I’ve done, the massacres I’ve instigated and carried out. My insignificant good deeds cannot make up for all the blood on my hands, the deaths of so many innocents. _Rainbows_ weren’t a good enough an apology for the Great Flood and they definitely cannot excuse anything I did afterward.”

Crowley’s hands wandered up and down his back, soothing. “I know, angel.”

Aziraphale froze. “You know?”

The demon nodded. “You think I don’t know when God tells you to do something you don’t want to do? You think I can’t see when you’d rather do anything else but you’re afraid of what questioning Her orders will do to you? I see you. I know. I know about the Mesopotamians, the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, the Egyptians, and the Amalekites. I know about the Black Plague and the Great Famine too.”

Tears fell down Aziraphale’s face. “I’m not allowed to question our Lord,” he choked.

“No. No, that wouldn’t end well for you.”

“The ends justify the means.”

“Sure, angel. It’s all part of Her Ineffable Plan.”

“I’m all wrong inside,” he told Crowley. “Ruined and rotten.”

Crowley shook his head and sat up. He kissed away Aziraphale’s tears. “You’re not.”

“I must be.” He sobbed. 

Crowley kissed him. Long, chaste kisses that tasted of salt and sweet, full-bodied alcohol. “You’re not. Not to me.”

“I am to _me_.”

The demon brushed his thumb over his temple, soothing in its repetition. “You mean too much to me for you to talk about yourself like this. I’ve raced all over Creation to keep you safe. I’ve always known you didn’t need me, but what a _rush_ when you finally let yourself depend on me. That first time when you let me save you during the Reign of Terror? Pretty sure there’s a clause somewhere saying that you’re safe from reprimand if using a miracle saves you from being discorporated. I loved the way you lit up when you saw me and let me be your hero.”

“That’s not a very demonic thing to say,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but grumble.

“Well, I’ve waited this long to say it, haven’t I? It’s not like I’m going to be sending a report to Hell over this.”

Despite himself, the angel chuckled. “That would be quite a report.”

“Wouldn’t it, though? They’d think I was defective.” 

“You’re perfect,” Aziraphale swore.

“Why’s it so hard to believe that you’re perfect to me too?”

The angel looked away. “You took credit for some of the horrid things that have happened in human history. I _actually_ committed the most heinous events known in the Bible.”

“Is that it? You don’t want to make love because you feel guilty?”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“Call what that?”

“You _know_.”

Crowley nibbled on his earlobe. “Don’t like it when I say ‘make love’?”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“You do.”

“I don’t _want_ it. I want – I want you to devastate me. To punish me for the things I have done. I want you to _hurt_ me.”

Crowley’s eyes were round in horror. “I can’t do that.”

“That’s all I want. I don’t want to be made love to, I want, I want to be f- _fucked_ within an inch of my existence.”

“That’s what you want?” Crowley rested his head against Aziraphale’s collarbone. “You want it to hurt and mean nothing?”

“You mean everything to me,” Aziraphale confessed quietly. “I wish I meant less to you. I wish you got what you truly deserved and not me.”

“Doesn’t matter what I deserve. Pretty sure I deserve a speck of dirt and extinction by this point. I want you. I _love_ you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

The silence was agonizing.

“Alright,” Crowley finally said. “You want it to hurt? Let’s do it. Take off your clothes.”

With some relief and mostly confused trepidation, Aziraphale did so. He manifested a penis and arsehole just to avoid another conversation of ‘What should I have’. 

Crowley willed away his own clothes and surprised Aziraphale.

The angel stared at the mound between the demon’s thighs. “That is a vagina, my dear,” he said. 

“Yeah, I know. I thought you’d like the option.” Crowley adjusted Aziraphale and then himself so that he could pull his legs out from under the angel and throw them over his thighs instead. He fell back against the bed and it was such a vulnerable and exhilarating pose he struck against the creamy shades of the bed. “You want it to hurt? Go ahead. Use me to hurt yourself.” He put his hands over his own head and crossed them at the wrist, a clear statement that he would not lift a finger to aid Aziraphale in his self-destruction.

“But, but, darling.” He frowned. “Anything I do will hurt you more.”

“Yeah,” the demon said. “That’s my _point_.” He raised his hips. “Go on, then. You want to punish yourself for being the bad guy? Go ahead. I’m a _demon_ , I deserve to be punished more than you.”

“You already were. The – Falling – _you_ … You don’t deserve this.”

“What I don’t deserve is the bloody git I’ve loved my entire existence telling me to fuck him and make it hurt like he’s acting in some badly educated BDSM film.”

“Maybe that’s what I need. Some sadism. Who are you to judge?”

“BDSM isn’t meant to reinforce your shit self-esteem. It’s meant to set you free. I hurt you now, it’ll just support this ridiculous idea you have that you deserve to be hurt. I’m having no part in it, angel. You want to try out some kinks? Fine, we’ll go all the way down the alphabet – later. When I know you’re not trying to destroy yourself and prove you’re _unworthy_ or some garbage like that.” 

Aziraphale stared down at the single being who had stood next to him from the very beginning. “When did you become so wise?”

“I always have been. Thanks for just now noticing.”

“You hide it well by being regularly incompetent.”

“Oi, what’s with this abuse?”

Aziraphale laughed. It was a painful, strangled sound, but it was real. He rested his head on Crowley’s chest. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

“Please don’t make me hurt you.”

“You don’t have to. You treat yourself nice, you’ll treat me nice.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Do I? Do I deserve nice things?”

“All of them, my dear boy.”

“Then treat me nicely.” 

Aziraphale sighed, giving up the war. His hands trailed over Crowley’s side, feeling soft and cool skin. Feeling breath and life thrumming through the demon’s body. 

“Unless you don’t want to do this right now?” Crowley asked, giving him an out.

Aziraphale leaned up and kissed him again. It was addicting, the soft affection of their lips caressing one another. “I do. And I want to treat you nicely, as you deserve. This is for you.”

“I don’t want it if you’re getting nothing from it.”

Aziraphale sat back, bum on his heels, and gazed upon the long and lithe glory of a trusting and forgiving demon. Crowley’s eyes were nearly black with their dilated pupils and his lips were bruised. His red hair was mussed up. Aziraphale wanted to see him give into rapture. 

“I do believe I will get a great deal from this. From giving this to you.”

“Making love to me.”

Aziraphale did not deserve that.

“Say it, angel. Say it or else I’m shutting down business and clothes go back on.” There was fear on Crowley’s face that he would have to follow through with his threat. Fear that Aziraphale wanted this so much less than him.

Aziraphale did not deserve to be made love to, but Crowley did. 

“I want to make love to you,” he admitted on a breath. With the power that only words had, it echoed between them into their very cores.

Crowley’s knees fell shamelessly apart. “Then do it,” he egged Aziraphale on. “Come on. Make love to me. Make my night.”

Aziraphale began slowly. It was, after all, in Crowley’s nature to go fast and in the angel’s to linger and enjoy. 

He tasted Crowley’s neck, the prominent adam’s apple. He tested the line of his jaw with gentle teeth. His hands explored lower, outlining Crowley’s chest, his shoulders, tracing the lines of wiry muscles up his arms. He circled thin wrists and was bamboozled to find how delicate they were in his grasp. 

His mouth travelled lower. The dip of Crowley’s collarbone begged for his tongue and, from there, he laved taut nipples. The demon hummed and wriggled beneath him. 

“That’s nice,” he said. “Feels good.”

Aziraphale delighted in the feedback and suckled first one bud and then the other. Crowley’s belly drew tight with each draw of his mouth and his knees squeezed Aziraphale’s sides. 

Aziraphale wandered even lower. “No belly button?” he asked.

“Does there have to be?” Crowley whined. It was a fair point and Aziraphale turned his mouth to those infamously loose hips that gave the demon his frustrating swagger. The ridges of them on his tongue was delightful. He bit into one – so very careful not to leave the slightest indent – and gnawed just to feel the shape of it.

“That has to be the strangest…” Crowley’s thought trailed off as Aziraphale ran his fingers over his ribs. “Now _that_ tickles.” 

Aziraphale was reluctant to leave Crowley’s hips. He enjoyed holding the unholy cretins in his mouth and giving them what-for for millennia of swinging all over the place. They failed to arouse carnal desires in Aziraphale, but they had aroused great exasperation and a burning curiosity to know what it would take for them to be still.

He rubbed them in his palms and admitted that they did bring a great deal of physical pleasure.

“A bit fixated, are you?” Crowley nudged him with an ankle. “Moving on anytime soon?”

Aziraphale caught the offending ankle in his hand and sat back. He pulled the ankle so that Crowley’s foot was balanced on his shoulder and felt the fine bone and ligaments of it. The Achilles heel was deemed a fine destination for stroking and he mouthed at Crowley’s calf as he did so. 

The demon revealed to be very sensitive to that and whined. 

Aziraphale trailed little licks and kisses up to one knobby knee. Curious, he tickled his fingers in the bend of the knee.

Crowley yelped and jerked. “Now _that_ was uncalled for.”

Aziraphale smile. “Forgive me, my dear. Let me make it up to you?”

“You _better_.”

He travelled down Crowley’s inner thigh. It was solid with muscle unlike his own, which were soft and malleable. He wondered if Crowley would like to bite his inner thighs like he was currently doing with the demon’s. _Here_ , he left the indents of teeth, finding the sight of his mark here in such a vulnerable place riveting. 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley groaned. “I knew it. I knew you’d break out the sonnets. Go on, then, have your shining moment. Serenade me with Shakespeare while you have my legs thrown over your shoulders.”

Aziraphale gave him a fond and admonishing look from between his legs. He suckled a bruise into Crowley’s thigh – not a painful bruise, but one made out of gentle love to fair, unmarred skin. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm’d; and every fair from fair sometime declines.” 

He switched to the other thigh, leaving them wet from his mouth and marked with adoration. “By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d; but thy eternal summer shall not fade nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade, when in eternal lines to time thou grow’st; so long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

“Horribly cliché of you, really,” Crowley groused. “Overused, Sonnet 18. It’s practically lost all meaning.”

“It speaks of your beauty,” Aziraphale defended. “That you are better than a summer’s day and that you will last longer.”

“Oh? You think I’m beautiful?” Crowley batted his lashes teasingly. 

“Radiant. Gorgeous. So pretty, it hurts. The most handsome fellow around, as they say.”

“Put that honeytrap of a mouth on my quim and I’ll serenade you for a chance. How would you like that?”

“Really, Crowley, such language…”

Crowley arched his back, lifting his hips off the bed to push his wet mound in Aziraphale’s face.

The angel stopped all pretense of offense and laid into it. He kissed the top of the slit and used his fingers to separate the folds so that he could lave the warm flesh within with his undying devotion.

“Oooh, that’ssss what I want to sssssee.” Crowley threw his head back and rolled his hips into Aziraphale’s face, demanding more. “That’sssss what I want to feel. That issss the good ssssstuuufff, _yessss_.” He panted as Aziraphale’s tongue dipped into his body, thrusting like a preview of things to come. “Sssssomeday, I’m gonna asssssk you to put on a pusssssy and I’m gonna show you how good thisssss feelsssss. Mmm… Don’t even need that. I’ll eat your assssss out. I’ll ssssssuck your dick. I’ll delight your tentaclesssss. Doesssn’t matter what you got between your legssssss, I will _rock your world_ , angel. You dessserve it.”

Aziraphale suckled his clit and blew hot air on it. Crowley mewled. “Such a poet,” he teased. “I have been thoroughly serenaded.”

Crowley looked down at him with impossibly dark and fathomless eyes.

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, and look upon myself, and curse my fate; wishing me like to one more rich in hope, featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d, desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, with what I most enjoy contented least; yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, haply I think on thee, and then my state, like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate; for thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings that then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

Aziraphale blinked back tears. “You memorized Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29?”

“Just for you, angel.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Aziraphale crawled up the length of Crowley’s body, mouth wet with spit and the demon’s arousal. “Truly?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you love me. I _know_ you love me… But, darling, that sounds like…”

“If God Herself said I could be an angel again at the cost of turning my back on you,” Crowley explained as if somehow, Aziraphale did not understand Shakespeare, “I’d call Her out for being stupid and laugh at her.”

“No, no, no, no… Don’t do that. This is enough. Please do not insult God to Her face. You wouldn’t actually do that, would you? Of course you wouldn’t. Your survival instinct is too strong.” Now he worried. 

Crowley tilted his chin up for a kiss. He had yet to move his hands this entire time, though they squeezed and relaxed in tides. Aziraphale, soft and weak as he was, gave him three.

“I won’t tell God off. You’re right, that’d just be self-defeating. I would _very politely_ tell Her that I would never willingly leave you. And I would _thank Her_ for the offer. Obviously.”

Aziraphale almost smiled. “Obviously.”

“You’re treating me like a pretty princess,” Crowley teased. “You have spoiled me with pleasures untold.”

“You don’t hurt anywhere, do you? I became… quite vigorously enamored with your thighs.”

“Feels nice,” the demon murmured. “No pain. Burns a little, but in a good way.” He sighed as he shifted his body. His toes curled around Aziraphale’s thighs. “Are you good?”

His concern melted Aziraphale’s heart. “I am very good. This has been… marvelous. You’re lovely, my dear.”

“Damn right, I am.” Crowley, thoroughly debauched as he was, looked very proud of his ability to lie back and let Aziraphale slobber all over his body like a lollipop. “Are you ready to do more?”

“More? Oh! You mean –?”

“Mmhm. Yeah.”

“Right now?”

“I’m gagging for it, I won’t lie. But are _you_ ready?”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath, unnecessary though it was. It gave him a moment to think. _Was_ he ready? There was a delightful buzz in his core, sending jolts of electricity through his body. He looked down between his own legs and was surprised to find that he was, at least physically, ready. But was _he_?

He glanced at Crowley.

The demon winked.

“I do believe I am, yes,” Aziraphale said in a rush.

“That’s my boy,” Crowley crooned. He wrapped his legs around Aziraphale’s waist.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Crowley flinched in surprise. “What, what, what?” His legs fell open. “Too fast?”

“No, I just – I’d like to do this a little differently. I have been inspired, if you will.”

The demon looked at him suspiciously. “I’m not manifesting any sort of dick for you to fuck yourself on. We are going to make love and do it right, even if it tortures you.”

“I figured as much. I would… like to go slower.”

“ _Slower_?” the demon whined.

“Gentler.”

“Gentler?!” he screeched.

Aziraphale dipped his fingers into a small jar of lube that miraculously appeared by his hip. It was good that he no longer answered to Heaven or else this would be awkward to explain. ‘On this date at this time, Principality Aziraphale miracled a container of lubricant into existence in order to properly prepare the demon Crowley for sexual intercourse’. That would be a horrid ordeal.

Aziraphale smiled as he trailed his fingers between Crowley’s arse cheeks and probed at his hole.

“ _Why_?” Crowley yelled. “Why the Hell do you have to do a thing like that when I have a fully operational pussy, wet and ready?”

Aziraphale’s smile grew. “I have to be oh so careful here. So very slow. I wouldn’t risk harming you for the world.”

“Can you do this some other time?”

Aziraphale discovered a small, almond-shaped nub inside of Crowley and stroked it.

The demon flopped against the bed as if all of his strings had been cut at once. This – _this_ was the visage of debauchery. Crowley’s body was impossibly open and eager for Aziraphale’s affections.

“The human vagina requires care and attention, of course,” Aziraphale rationalized. “But, as I have heard some women say, it was made to take a fair ‘pounding’ and birth agonizingly large babies. This part of your body is not so resilient. I must take the utmost care preparing you.”

“Please,” Crowley groaned. “I am _begging_ you, please!”

Aziraphale moved up to two fingers. “I just want to make love to you as you deserve.”

“You’re pushing it, angel.”

“How so?”

“Are you stalling? Is that it? If you’re not ready, you can let me – FUCK.” Aziraphale used one hand to finger Crowley’s vagina and three to work his anus over. Crowley writhed beneath him.

“I’ve been told we’re making love, actually,” Aziraphale near sang.

“Oh, fuck you. What are you playing at?”

“You’re so impatient, darling.” He leaned down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Crowley was shaking. “Are you okay? Should I stop?”

“If you stop, I’ll set up your entire display window with _The Sound of Music_.”

Aziraphale gasped in horror.

“I will.” Crowley glared at him. “Swear I will.”

“That is unnecessary.” 

“Angel, love, _please_. Please make love to me. Whatever it is you’re hesitating over, just push it out of your head and make love to me. If you really don’t want this, then I won’t touch your display window. Promise.”

Aziraphale pulled his hands away from the warm insides of his lover. “I do want this. I just… I’m hesitating because… Once I’m inside you, we can never go back. We can never undo this. And what if you regret it? You say you know about all that I’ve done, but do you _really_ understand what I’ve done? You keep calling me good and kind and pure. You call me _angel_. What if I am just a horrid, homicidal monster that God uses to carry out Her worst deeds on Earth?”

For the first time since Crowley had put his hands above his head, he lifted them. He cupped Aziraphale’s face in his palms and brought their foreheads together, so close that they shared their every breath and their noses kissed. 

“What if _I’m_ just a horrid, homicidal monster that Satan uses to carry out his worst deeds on Earth?” Crowley asked. “Would you leave me, right now, this very instant?”

“Never. No, Crowley – you are no monster. A demon, yes, a _foul_ , wily old serpent – but never a horrid, homicidal monster. The only time I saw you take any pride in taking a life was when you saved me from those Nazis in 1941.”

“Maybe I feel that I’m a monster. Maybe I feel like there’s this putrid stain on me that keeps spreading.”

“Not you, Crowley, never –”

“If you don’t believe me, why should I believe you?”

Aziraphale fidgeted. “Because I’m telling the truth.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Have we had this conversation before?”

“Something like it.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. No, you would never lie to me.” But he had lied to Crowley. Several times over the millennia and more so lately.

“You can’t convince me you’re telling the truth and I can’t convince you. We’re just going to have to spend the rest of eternity proving it and part of that means just accepting a Damn compliment when it’s given.”

“I called you nice once and you pushed me against a wall.”

“That’s an insult to a demon and you _know_ it.” He put his hands down again, crossed at the wrist over his head. “Go on. Make love to me. Convince me there’s something in me worth loving.”

“All of you, Crowley.” Aziraphale lined himself up with the demon’s arse and pushed in so very slowly, not wanting to tear him by accident. “All of you is worth loving to me.”

Crowley’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “I love you too. You sexy little bastard, I love you. You feel good. Damn, now I’m glad you teased me for so long. Aaaaaah…” He groaned when Aziraphale finally bottomed out. “There you are. Welcome home,” he murmured against the shell of Aziraphale’s ear.

“You are too much,” Aziraphale panted. “I love you.”

“Prove it.”

He proved it slowly and gently, leisurely. It was not a building tsunami of pleasure, not some uncontrollable fever for more. It was warm and pleasant and Crowley’s body squeezed him just right. It was worth it to take his time and make this last.

Crowley was falling apart beneath him, swearing and writhing. “More, fuck, more. Angel, for pity’s sake, _more_. I will tear your chicken wings off, you pompous bastard –”

“Is this part of making love?” he teased. He would admit only to himself that he slowed down even more to hear Crowley screech his name and promise bodily harm. “I feel so cherished. Really. Tell me again about how you’ll fit my entire Oscar Wilde collection up my bum.”

Crowley’s hands were fists where he was consciously pressing them into the pillows. “Make love to me faster!” he yelled in the same tone Aziraphale had once heard him yell at his plants to grow better.

He rolled his hips at an angle and pushed in deep. Crowley yelled and his legs hugged Aziraphale close.

“There! For _someone’s_ sake, do that again.”

“For my own sake, I believe. I fear what you might do to me if I fail to give you exactly what you want.” Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s slick chest. “I do like the thought of spoiling you.”

Crowley could not beg, blackmail, cajole, bribe, or threaten him to move any faster. The tight heat of Crowley’s body was delicious and the lively, long body beneath his filled the cold and broken parts of him with hope and awe. Crowley’s snake eyes were so dark and hazy with rapture that Aziraphale could not stop staring. His face was flushed and his lips were bruised from kissing.

“How does it feel?” he asked. “No pain?”

“No pain,” Crowley swore. “Just – need more. Aziraphale. Please!”

Aziraphale dipped a hand between them and thumbed Crowley’s clit.

“Can’t you pull out a second dick – and fill up both my holes? It’ll feel _so good_. Don’t you want me to feel so good?”

Aziraphale was already shaking his head. “I think I prefer this. Watching you slowly fall apart. I want to savor this.”

“You – hedonistic – bastard!”

“How many meals have we sat through together? You know more than anyone else that I take my time when I am enjoying myself.”

Crowley arched unexpectedly. His belly went tight and it seemed as if every muscle locked into place as he threw his head back and cried out.

Aziraphale was frozen in shock. “Crowley? Darling? Are you alright?”

“I just came so hard, I saw white,” the demon wheezed. “Oh, shit, that was intense.”

“Really? Already?” The angel pouted. “Should we stop, then?”

Crowley stared quizzically at him. Aziraphale felt when the demon squeezed down on his penis and sighed with pleasure.

“ _No_ ,” the demon stated. “Absolutely not. You’re hard enough to hammer nails.”

“I don’t have to orgasm, really.”

“Do you… not want to?”

Aziraphale considered it. “I would like to, but I was… rather hoping we would orgasm together.”

“You romantic.” Crowley’s head rolled across the pillow. “You deplorable romantic.” His snake eyes studied Aziraphale. “Would you like to try something else?”

“Like what?”

“My mouth”.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You mean –?”

“Absolutely.”

“What if I hurt you?”

“I think we’ve established that you won’t.”

“I don’t know if I’m willing to take that chance.”

“Oh, I definitely am. Think of it this way – you’ll be nice to me or else.” 

“Or else you will put my entire Oscar Wilde collection up my bum?”

“Hell yeah, I will. But, mostly, you’ll mope all over the place and blame yourself and just be real sad about your choices in life.”

“True enough. Should I, should I clean up first?”

“Is hygiene an issue for you?”

“I don’t want to offend you by putting something that was just up your bum in your mouth.”

“Like I do anything else with my arse. I’m fine with it.” He arched his back and pushed against Aziraphale. The angel whimpered. “I always knew you would be good at making love. Practiced with Wilde, did you?”

“I wasn’t in love with him.”

“I’ve been in love with you for six thousand years and I’ve had a partner here and there.”

“I know. And I’m not judging. It just… isn’t my personal preference to have coitus with someone I do not have romantic feelings for.” He separated himself from Crowley’s body. The demon’s loose anus winked at him, red and irritated. “Are you _sure_ I didn’t hurt you?”

“Angel, I can’t remember a time when I felt better. How do you want to do this?”

Aziraphale bit his bottom lip. “Whichever way gives you the most control?”

“You’re going to make me get up, aren’t you? I was fully prepared to make you do all the work and just unhinge my jaw.” He sighed petulantly, completely ignoring the angel’s sputtering. “Fine. Lay down. That’s right, just like that.” He waited till Aziraphale had arranged himself. “You cozy?”

“As much as I can be. I’m starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.”

Crowley slithered down the bed, pulling one of the angel’s legs over him as he slunk between his thighs. “Can’t imagine why,” he said, mostly to the darkly swollen penis. He pressed a kiss to one thigh and Aziraphale’s breath caught at seeing those red lips against his pale flesh. Crowley’s eyes shot to his. “Like that, do you?”

“Could you – would you… use a little bit of teeth?”

Crowley shook his head. “Another time. I’m not ready to risk causing you pain.”

“I promise, I want it because I believe it will feel good.”

He shook his head again. “I promise, I’m not ready to take that chance. I’m not saying we won’t, I’m just saying not yet.”

Aziraphale subsided. Crowley, as a reward, kissed his thigh again. His hands finally touched Aziraphale to press down on his hips as he peppered kisses up and –

“Oh, good Heavens!” Crowley cackled around his mouthful. Aziraphale thought it was a very good thing that the demon had grabbed his waist first to keep him still. And then the demon sucked and he moaned and he did unbelievable things with his _tongue_ – wait.

“What _is_ that? That’s not your tongue.” 

Crowley slurped filthily as he pulled his mouth off. “It isssss a tongue,” he hissed. And it was. Quite like a snake’s tongue, or a snake-like tongue in that it was unusually long and forked. Aziraphale watched, bewitched, as the tongue touched the head of his manhood and then coiled around his entire length –

“Oh, my,” he whispered.

Crawly smirked at him, which just had to be a difficult thing to do with his mouth wide open like that.

“This is depraved,” Aziraphale whimpered.

Crowley sank down on him and his eyes closed with pleasure.

“This is lovely,” the angel groaned. He tangled his hands in the blankets and raised his knees to frame Crowley. 

It felt like seconds later that a pleasure burning in his belly suddenly snapped and his body fell pliant into the cloud-soft comforter and pillows.

Crowley drank him down and licked him clean.

“That was incredible,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley kissed his hip, his belly, his chest. He licked his collarbone and nuzzled his neck. He nosed his jaw and pecked his cheek. He laid down on Aziraphale and stole his mouth with his own. 

Aziraphale was weak and greedy and took his every affection while whining for more.

“Next time,” Crowley murmured against his chin. “I’ll be inside of you. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“You won’t tell me to hurt you, will you?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. That upsets you too much for my liking.”

Crowley tucked his nose into the junction of Aziraphale’s shoulder and neck. “Good enough for me. I’m going to take a nap and you’re not going anywhere. Understood?”

“How long do you plan on napping for? Crowley? _Crowley_.”

The demon, wanting no argument, had willed himself to sleep instantly. Aziraphale was rather startled when, while attempting to move the demon, Crowley became a serpent that sleepily coiled around Aziraphale’s torso and arms. Big bugger, he was.

“Bad serpent,” he muttered.

The bad serpent slept on. It let Aziraphale feel free to stroke his scales and pet his head. He found himself to be smiling, truly happy with where he was and how he had gotten there. 

“I love you, dear,” he said, though Crowley wasn’t listening. “Even if you are a flash… Well, a flash _bastard_.” He took secret delight in knowing Crowley did not hear him. He willed himself a book and settled in.

He still felt undeserving and terrible and stained on the inside – but Crowley knew that and loved him anyway. He said he felt the same way too. Somehow, knowing that made it easier to believe that they could love each other for the rest of eternity, broken parts and all.


End file.
